PPP Ezine: Poetrypoeticspleasure EzineVolume 5; Issue 10; October 2021

April 10, 1815 by Michael Ceraolo

Heritage by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

Coyote Dusk by William Doreski

Provincial by Gerard Sarnat

Risk-Reward Ratio by Robert Beveridge

Somewhere, Prometheus by Louis Faber

Lonely at Wedding by James Croal Jackson

Paradox by Mohammad Saif

A Red Bird’s Wings by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Yo soy el Fenix by Sergio A. Ortiz

Platinum City by Hongri Yuan

April 10, 1815 by Michael Ceraolo

In the Indonesian archipelago

the top three thousand feet of a mountain

was blown off,ejecting

smoke, ash, and acid into the atmosphere,

killing tens of thousands of people

and more than that number of animals

and causing massive devastation in the area

And the devastation was not limited

to the immediate area or time

The cloud of smoke and ash

would travel around the world

The next year would be known

in the Northern Hemisphere as

The Year without a Summer:

heavy snows in June

frosts in July and August

“the seasons . . .very unlike what they had formerly been”

“the most adverse to agriculture

which had ever been known”with

“No prospect of crops”

Some of the subsequent years would be almost as cold

And a few more people were now convinced

that smoke in the air could affect the weather

Michael Ceraolo is a 63-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had two full-length books (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press; 500 Cleveland Haiku, from Writing Knights Press) and has two more full-length books, Euclid Creek Book Two, and Lawyers, Guns, and Money, in the publication pipeline.

Heritage by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

Many times, in the day to day, we came across

surprising and unpredictable events,

that leave us breathless and speechless.

Some sad, unwanted and hurtful ones, 

which we cannot understand its origins or reasons,

carried out by family, friends, even by ourselves.                                                             

We must also remember those, likewise unexpected,

that had brought happiness, joy, and well-being,      

which, without better judgment, we accounted

as if had been natural and fully deserved ones.  

Indeed, in the harvest we do every day,

we are used to abundance, sometimes to scarcity,  

healthy fruits alongside some sick ones.

We should always take into account

that have not been only we who have planted

what we are now reaping.   

It had been sowed by parents and grandparents,

also by everyone who preceded us. 

Really, it is the heritage we must honor,

interdependent as we are, in our common,

beloved, sometimes so suffering human race. 

Edilson Afonso Ferreira , 77 years, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in selected international journals in print and online, he began writing at age 67, after retiring as a bank employee. Nominated for The Pushcart Prize 2017, his first Poetry Collection, Lonely Sailor, One Hundred Poems, was launched in London, in November of 2018. He is always updating his works at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com.

Coyote Dusk by William Doreski

Hear the coyotes howling,

urging the dark to arrive?

The small bones in your ears hurt

as primal fears parse the noise

into barely digestible bytes.

Yes, they began that gray chorus

soon after you left for Nashua

with the highway trying to warp

itself into a Moebius strip.

Yes, most drivers go crazy

when spring light decays in shades

of ecru the eye can’t process.

A wonder you got home alive

to hear the coyotes desiccate

the over-familiar distance

between the wooded horizon

and the post-glacial hills beyond.

The Spanish Revolution failed

or succeeded before our birth,

but the howling of coyotes

invokes the pack mentality

that drew martyrs to the flames.

Would you self-sacrifice to save

Picasso’s Guernica from grief

atonal as the end of the world?

You drove to Nashua to shop,

but the coyotes could explain

the carnivorous point of view

more clearly than the meat cutters

at the supermarket you favor.

We’d better get the groceries inside

before the coyotes finish

tuning up for a long pale night,   

their appetites so perfected

we might be tempted to imitate

by baring our secret fangs.


William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His work has appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught at Emerson College, Goddard College, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent books are  Water Music and Train to Providence.  williamdoreski.blogspot.com

Provincial by Gerard Sarnat

view of current world

as First (us), Second (Commies)

well as Third (have-nots)

— condescending, out-of-date —

we all fight the COVID fall.

Gerard Sarnat won the Poetry in the Arts First Place Award plus the Dorfman Prize, and has been nominated for a handful of recent Pushcarts plus Best of the Net Awards. Gerry is widely published in academic-related journals (e.g., Universities of Chicago/ Maine/ San Francisco/Toronto, Stanford, Oberlin, Brown, Columbia, Harvard, Pomona, Johns Hopkins, Wesleyan, Penn, Dartmouth, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Baltimore) plus national (e.g., Gargoyle, Main Street Rag, New Delta Review, MiPOesias, American Journal Of Poetry, Parhelion, Clementine, pamplemousse, Red Wheelbarrow, Deluge, Poetry Quarterly, poetica, Tipton Journal, Hypnopomp, Free State Review, Poetry Circle, Buddhist Poetry Review, Poets And War, Thank You For Your Service Anthology, Wordpeace, Cliterature, Qommunicate, Indolent Books, Snapdragon, Pandemonium Press, Boston Literary Magazine, Montana Mouthful, Arkansas Review, Texas Review, San Antonio Review, Brooklyn Review, pacificREVIEW, San Francisco Magazine, The Los Angeles Review, Fiction Southeast and The New York Times) and international publications (e.g., Review Berlin, Voices Israel, Foreign Lit, New Ulster, Transnational, Southbank, Wellington Street Review). He’s authored the collections Homeless Chronicles: From Abraham to Burning Man (2010), Disputes (2012), 17s (2014), Melting the Ice King (2016). Gerry is a physician who’s built and staffed clinics for the marginalized as well as a Stanford professor and healthcare CEO. Currently he is devoting energy/ resources to deal with climate change justice. Gerry’s been married since 1969 with three kids plus six grandsons, and is looking forward to future granddaughters.

gerardsarnat.com

Risk-Reward Ratio by Robert Beveridge


This is where all the beer
in the world ends up, where
Oscar-winning actors fallen
on hard times congregate.
This is where the guy you
thought was your next door
neighbor, maybe a distant
cousin, turns out to be
a closet billionaire. This
is rock and roll subjugated
by the tumbler, pulled out
smooth, polished, ready
for the sterile display case.
This is the sanitized biopic
that turns a racist into a paragon
of inclusivity. This is Tabasco
in place of gochujang, Kamchatka
in place of Nic Cage. This is where
the pipe diverts, heads off
to sump straight into the sea.


Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.

 

 

Somewhere, Prometheus by Louis Faber

Chained to the great rock

atop Mt. Caucausus

did you dream of Epimetheas

somewhere below, did you foresee

Pandora, her evil gleam

reflected in the love struck eyes

of your brother, a gift of the Gods

not to be ignored despite your entreaties.

Was that the price of fire

secreted by the Gods

until stolen in your tube.

Didn’t you see the great cloud

rise quickly from the rubble

and glowing ash

of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,

the core settle into the earth

a hole in Chernobyl.

Were these the visions

that ate at you

plucking at your liver

from its philosophical aerie

your resolve returned

each day in the office

nestled into the New Jersey countryside.

You waited patiently

for your redemption

for the eagle of doubt

to be felled by logic

freeing your to pursue Irene.

We continue your quest

although the Gods

have grown bored with us

and Pandora has moved

to Afghanistan.

Louis Faber’s work has previously appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Rattle, Eureka Literary Magazine, Borderlands: the Texas Poetry Review, Midnight Mind, Pearl, Midstream, European Judaism, Greens Magazine, The Amethyst Review, Afterthoughts, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review, among many others, and he has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

Lonely at Wedding by James Croal Jackson

nameless in a crowd
at table six
is the tableau of good
people but will
I remember them no
sometimes a lady wears a red
dress and it is the table
cloth and you will not dirty
your hands not with no
one dancing one is
dancing to these cliched
songs and my only friend
here knows it’s not about

me she’s the one
getting married the bartender
has my back offering
me champagne pop
this wine I consume
and wonder about good
decisions the groom’s dad
made a speech about
good decisions and personally
I wonder if this is a good
one he claims it is
this marriage
at least I have learned
this

James Croal Jackson (he/him/his) is a Filipino-American poet. He has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and recent poems in DASHSampsonia Way, and Jam & Sand. He edits The Mantle (themantlepoetry.com). He works in film production in Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)

Paradox by Mohammad Saif

Disbelief, is it or inability?

A conundrum?

Endeavours to resolve,

with given complexity,

the intricacy

of this universe.

Is it then sardonic?

These pursuits and

unevenly matched failures,

to fathom

the depths of, simple,

docile emotions pressed

against absolute perplexity.

Mohammad Saif is currently working as a Visiting Faculty with Amity Institute of English Studies and Research, Amity University, and teaches English and Communication skills at undergraduate and postgraduate level. He earned Distinction in M.Phil. for his dissertation ‘A Study of Selected Narratives on the Tradition and Practice of Al-Hijama’. Driven by sheer alacrity and insatiable thirst for knowledge he seeks growth in the field of academia.

A Red Bird’s Wings by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

As light sifts down the hills

behind the barn, she sits with

her coffee cup watching

sparrows rest on the wire,

a red bird’s wing cutting

across her stare, the sunset

soaking into the iris of her

eye as she leans towards

her golden years. Now it is

July with its hot thick yellow

days and an owl feather

floating in a little pond;

a mare that still grazes

near the fence, head down,

content in sweet grass.

Her heart rises, framing

her life by the kitchen

window, the desert of

her dreams now so far

away, the closeness of

her family wrapped around

her every day, comforted

always be the voice of

someone dear.

Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain,The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, The Tau, Vita Brevis, Cascadia Rising Review, Old Red Kimono, and Woods Reader. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net in 2015, the Best of the Net 2018 Anthology Awards hosted by Sundress Publications, and the 2020 Best of the Net anthology. Her website is located at http://bobbisinhamorey.wordpress.com.

Yo soy el Fenix by Sergio A. Ortiz

my multi colored feathers 

shine. Your jailers 

are no obstacle, it’s my 

nature to rise. 

El tiempo me dice,

A jugado tanto con el amor 

que ya no sabe amar. *

Camina, corre, cabalga.

Now what, where will you 

go from here?

¿A que nueva cárcel 

me desterrara? 

¿A qué otro silencio?

It pains me to know 

that tomorrow’s daylight 

might bring you tears. 

Niños del color 

de mis tristezas jugando 

frente al mar

en casa de cartón.* 

Your choice, not mine.

Make sure you don’t hurt 

yourself while trying 

to save me.

_____________

*He’s played so much with love

that he cannot love 

*What new prison will you exile me to? To what other silence

Am I being banished to?

*Children the color of my sadness playing in a cardboard house in front of the sea.

Sergio A. Ortiz is a retired, Educator, Bilingual-Gay PRican Poet, Human Rights Advocate. Pushcart nominee, Best of the Web, Best of the Net. He took 2nd place in the 2016 Ramón Ataz annual poetry competition, sponsored by Alaire Publishing House. He workshops his poetry in RatsAssReview workshop. Recent credits include Spanish audio poems in Parragon Press, South Florida Poetry Journal, RatsAssReview, The Maynard, and Spillwords. He is the Founder of Undertow Tanka Poetry Review now Undertow Poetry Review, La Resaca. His chapbook, Welcome To My Archipelago, will be published by Parragon Press.

Platinum City by Hongri Yuan

Translated by Manu Mangattu

Ah! Of iridescent gems of time

The heavenly road you paved light!

In a kingdom of stars,

I found my home.

In the golden cities,

I opened the gates of the city to the sun,

To behold the godly giants.

At the royal palace of the jewel

I read of prehistoric wonderful poems

The enormous, gorgeous ancient books.

Carved with the golden words

The wondrous strange mystery tales,

Made my eyes drunken.

I walked into the full new universes,

And saw the holy kingdoms:

Even before the earth was born

The erstwhile home of human history.

Across Time and Space in crystalline glitter

Stands this moment a platinum city –

The spaceships drifting leisurely,

Like the birds, resplendent in variegated hues.

In the crystal garden I saw

A crowd of youthful giants,

Their eyes were bright and glittering

In the aura of the body sparkle..

They sang happy songs

They danced a wonderful dance

Lanky boys and girls in pairs

As if to celebrate the splendid carnival.

I saw a circular edifice

High above the city.

Giving out white-bright lightnings.

Raised ground to fly into the quiet space.

A frame of platinum edifice

Creating a beautiful pattern.

The whole city is a circle

Arranged into a fine structure.​

Into a bright hall I went.

A strange instrument there I saw.

A huge screen hanging on the wall,

Displaying a golden space​.

Like bits of colourful crystal gemstones!

Resplendent with variegated colours of the city!

Those strange and beautiful high-rise buildings

A sight better than the myth of the world.

I saw lines of strange letters.

On one side of the screen flashed swiftly

Numerous young and strong giants

An effort to concentrate on the changing images.

Their look is quiet and peaceful.

The learned flame flashes in their eyes.

In a flash of clothes

The next is a whole.

Their stature, unusually tall.

Each one is well-nigh seven meters high.

Both men and women look dignified

Almost no age difference apparent.

Their skin is white as snow

With a faint flashy shine

Bright eyes are as naive as an infant’s

Also kindled with a strange flame.

They manipulate the magic of the instrument.

The pictures of the changing space.

Their language is artless and plane.

As the bell is generally pleasant.

As I survey the length and breadth of the bright hall

I feel a powerful energy

Body and mind suffused with bliss and delight.

As if I too am a giant.​

I seem to understand their language.

They are exploring the mysteries of the universe.

The cities on a lot of planets

Peopled with their countless partners.

Their mind they use to manipulate the instrument

Also can to transfer data be used

Even thousands of miles apart

Also to talk free to the heart.

Many lines of text on the screen

Is but a message from afar.

The whole universe is their home.

They build cities in space.

They use the spaceships

To transport you to far-distant other spaces.

Into a lightning, a moment, and you

Vanish into thin air, without a trace.

I feel a new civilization.

They have magical eyes.

They seem to be able to see the future

And can enter diverse time-spaces.

Men and women are holy and loving

Superior to our world’s so-called love

They don’t seem to understand ageing

Neither do they know about war.

Time seems not to exist

Science is jut a wonderful art

Their happiness comes from the creation of

A universe full of divine love.

I saw a young giant

Opening the door of a platinum

A round, magnificent hall

Packed with rows of giant s of men and women.​

I saw a crystal stage.

Gyrating at the center of the hall.

Where a dignified and beautiful girl

Was playing a huge musical instrument.

A bunch of golden rays,

Shifting with all kinds of brilliant graphics

A mysterious and beautiful music

Like the Dragon leisurely crowing.

Thence I saw an enormous giant

Jump out of the remarkable dance onto the stage.

His hands held a huge ball

Which flashed with many colourful drawing .

I saw a group of young girls

Wearing a kind of white dresses

They seemed to fly lightly

Like the giant cranes.

The huge circular hall was resplendent

With clear, transparent decoration.

Like a bizarre gem of a full set,

Scintillating brilliantly in the light.

I saw a young singer

About the golden flame

The sound was strange and striking

Like singing , like chanting too.

Their music is at once mysterious and blissful

That shift randomly like the lightning

As if many planets of the universe

Shining bright and light​ in space.

The crystal city, aloft in space

Looks resplendent, magnificent

Countless wonderful golden flowers

Bloom and blush in that flawless space.

I saw an image of a transparent smiling face,

As if it were a colourful garden

The sky shed the golden light

And turned it into a city of gold​.

I strode out of the circular hall

Came to a wide street with a smooth

Pavement covered with precious stones

And in line with the platinum edifice.

There are no terrestrial trees here,

But they are in full bloom with a lot of exotic flowers.

Sparkling with rich incense,

Shaping a garden at the center of the street.

Some strange flowers were there.

The branches as transparent crystal

Flashing all kinds of brilliant colours;

And bunches of round golden fruit​.

I saw a huge statue.

It was like a spaceship.

Clustered around by shining stars,

High above the centre of the street.

I saw the column of a dazzling fountain

In a huge circle in the square;

The elegantly modelled statues

Portraying the holy giants​.

The soaring magnificent edifices

Ran round the circle square.

There were some garden villas

There was a platinum steeple.

I saw a wide river

Girdling this huge city

The bottom flashed with transparent gold dust,

Amidst which were scattered brilliant gems.

The planning of tall trees on shore

And a long crystal corridor

A big multi-coloured bird

Three five one group floated on the surface of the water.

I saw a vast forest

The swaying tree, a tree of gold

The trees with towering spires

And as some platinum Pavilion​.

I saw some giants along the walk,

Some male and female bodybuilders.

At the water’s brink or in the forest

Like birds carefree and relaxed.

The wonderful space was as bright as crystal

Embraced this platinum city;

A giant, white and bright ball

Flashing boundless light into the air​.

It resembled the huge suns

And like the man-made planets

The whole city was shining too,

Weaving a rare breed of magic​.

A strange speeding train circled

About the city back and forth;

There seemed to be a kind of track in the sky

Like a shiny silver curve​.

They seated body white buildings

As if it was a dreamlike maze

This huge city was unusually quiet,

Could not even hear the sound of the wind​.

I bade goodbye to the platinum city.

Near a golden space

Stands another city here

A huge city of gold​.

The building here is also huge.

But it’s another beautiful shape.

The whole city is glittering

Golden edifice as beautiful as sculpture.

Here there live some other giants.

As if from another nation

They have boundless wisdom.

Like a golden, holy civilization.

Manu Mangattu is an English Professor, poet, editor, director and rank-holder. He has published 7 books, 73 research articles and 36 conference papers apart from 14 edited volumes with ISBN. He serves as chief editor/editor for various international journals. He has done UGC funded projects and a SWAYAM-MOOC course (Rs 15 lakhs). Besides translations from Chinese and Sanskrit, he writes poetry in English as well as in Indian languages. He was named “Comrade to Poetry China” in 2016. A visiting faculty at various universities and a quintessential bohemian-vagabond, he conducts poetry readings, workshops and lectures when inspired. After an apprenticeship in Shakespeare under Dr Stephen Greenblatt, he currently guides 23 research scholars and mentors NET English aspirants.

白金城市

远红

时间的五彩宝石啊

你铺成了光芒的天路

在一座星辰的王国

我找到了自己的家园

我打开一座座太阳的城门

在一座座黄金的城市

见到了一个个神圣的巨人

在那宝石镶嵌的皇宫

阅读了史前奇妙的诗篇

一部部古奥华丽的巨书

镌雕着黄金的词语

一篇篇玄奇美妙的故事

迷醉了我的双眼

我走进了一个个崭新的宇宙

看到了一座座圣洁的王国

在地球还没有诞生之前

曾经是人类的史前的家园

时空的水晶啊光芒闪耀

一座白金的城市矗立眼前

一只只飞船悠悠飘过

像一只只巨鸟五光十色

我看到一个个年轻的巨人

身体闪耀七彩的光环

他们的眼睛欢喜明亮

聚会在一座水晶的花园

他们唱着欢快的歌曲

跳着一种奇妙的舞蹈

一对对高大的少男少女

仿佛在庆贺盛大的节日

我看到一座圆形的巨厦

高高耸立在城市的上空

发出一道道白亮的闪电

高高地飞入宁静的太空

一座座通体白金的巨厦

构成了一个美妙的图案

整个城市是一个圆形

排列成一个精致的结构

我走进一座明亮的大厅

看到一排奇特的仪器

墙上悬挂巨大的屏幕

显映出一片金色的太空

一座座五光十色的城市

像一块块五彩晶莹的宝石

那些奇丽的高楼巨厦

胜过了人间幻想的神话

我看到一行行陌生的字母

在一面屏幕上匆匆闪过

几位年轻健壮的巨人

专注地观看变幻的图像

他们的神情宁静安然

两眼闪映智慧的光芒

穿着一种闪光的衣装

通体上下是一个整体

他们的身材异常高大

个个足有七米多高

男男女女容貌端庄

几乎没有年龄的区别

他们的皮肤洁白如雪

隐隐闪出亮丽的光泽

明亮的眼睛单纯如婴儿

又含着一种奇异的火焰

他们操纵神奇的仪器

变幻太空一幅幅图景

他们的语言简洁流畅

像钟磬一般悦耳动听

我端详这座明亮的大厅

感受到一种强大的能量

身心充满了幸福欢喜

自己也仿佛变成了巨人

我似乎听懂了他们的语言

他们在探索宇宙的奥秘

那一颗颗星球上的城市

住着他们无数个伙伴

他们用意念操纵仪器

也可以用意念传递信息

即使相距千里万里

也可以自由地用心交谈

那屏幕上的一行行文字

即是远方传来的信息

整个宇宙是他们的家园

他们在太空建造城市

他们乘坐的太空飞船

可以到达另外的空间

一瞬间化成一道闪电 

在空中变得无影无踪

我感受到一种新的文明

他们长着神奇的眼睛

他们似乎能看到未来

也能进入不同的时空

男男女女都圣洁慈爱

胜过人间所谓的爱情

他们仿佛不懂得衰老

也不知道什么叫战争

时间仿佛并不存在

科学就是奇妙的艺术

他们的快乐来自创造

对宇宙充满神圣的感情

我看到一位年轻的巨人

打开了一座白金的大门

一座圆形的华丽的大厅

坐满了一排排男女巨人

我看到一座水晶的舞台

旋转在这座大厅的中央

一位端庄美丽的少女

演奏着一种巨型的乐器

一束一束金色的光芒

变幻出各种奇妙的图形

一种玄妙动人的音乐

仿佛是龙凤悠然的啼鸣

我看到一位健美的巨人

在台上跳出奇异的舞蹈

他手中托起巨大的圆球

球内闪耀着彩色的画图

我看到一队妙龄的女郎

穿着一种雪白的裙裳

他们仿佛在翩翩飞翔

像是一只只巨大的仙鹤

巨大的圆厅金碧辉煌

像水晶一般清澈透明

又像是嵌满奇异的宝石

闪耀出一种绚丽的光芒

我看到一位年轻的歌手

全身缭绕着金色的火焰

那声音奇特而又优美

像是歌唱又像是吟诵

他们的音乐欢喜玄妙

像一道道闪电变幻莫测

仿佛是宇宙的一颗颗星球

在太空中闪烁亮丽的光芒

又仿佛一座座水晶的城市

在空中矗立宏伟辉煌

无数奇妙的金色的花朵

开满了清澈晶莹的太空

我看到一张张透明的笑脸

仿佛是一座缤纷的花园

金色的光芒从天空洒下

化成了一座座黄金之城

我走出了这座圆形大厅

来到一条宽阔的街道

光洁的路面嵌满宝石

两旁林立白金的巨厦

在这儿没有人间的树木

却盛开各种奇异的花朵

浓郁芳香又闪闪发光

形成了一座座街心花园

这是一些奇特的花木

枝干透明仿佛水晶

闪烁各种奇妙的颜色 

还有一串串金色的圆果

我看到一座巨大的塑像

仿佛一个太空飞船

高高地耸立在街头中心     

周围闪耀一颗颗星球

我看到一柱柱晶莹的喷泉

在一座巨大的圆形广场

一座座造型优美的雕像

刻画出一个个圣洁的巨人

一座座巍峨壮丽的巨厦

环绕着这座圆形的广场

巨厦的上面是一些花园

还有一座座白金的尖塔

我看到一条宽广的河流

怀抱着这座巨大的城市

水底闪映出透明的金沙

还有一颗颗七彩的宝石

岸边排列高大的花木

和一条条水晶的长廊

一种色彩亮丽的大鸟

三五一群在水面飞翔

我看到一座广阔的树林

摇曳着一树树黄金的树叶

树林中耸立一座座尖塔

又仿佛一些白金的楼阁

我看到一些漫步的巨人

男男女女健美潇洒

或在水边或在林中

像鸟儿一般逍遥自在

奇妙的太空亮如水晶  

怀抱着这座白金城市

一只一只白亮的巨球

在空中闪放无际的光明

仿佛是一颗颗巨大的太阳

又像是一颗颗人造的星球

整座城市也闪放光芒

形成一种神奇的景象

一种奇特的飞驰的列车

在城市上空回环往复

天空中仿佛有一种轨道

像一条银白闪亮的曲线

那一座座通体白亮的巨厦

仿佛是一座座神奇的迷宫

巨大的城市异常宁静

甚至听不到风儿的声音  

我告别了这座白金城市

奔向了一片金色的太空

在这儿矗立另一座城市

一座巨大的黄金之城

这儿的建筑同样巨大

却是另一种美丽的造型

整座城市金光灿烂

黄金的巨厦美如雕塑

这儿生活着另一些巨人

仿佛来自另一个民族

他们拥有伟大的智慧

像黄金一般圣洁的文明

Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet’s Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Acumen, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, Fine Lines, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are“Platinum City”and “Golden Giant”. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization.

 

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